“I’m not most people. Because I do the same thing. I go where I’m needed.”
I don’t like it, but I know this is her work.
“I know,” I say.
She studies me for a second.
Then—
“Just don’t lie to me about it.”
That hits.
Because she knows.
She’s already figured it out.
“Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not,” she continues. “Don’t pretend it’s nothing.”
My jaw tightens slightly.
Because that’s exactly what we do.
What we’ve always done.
She sees it.
Of course she does.
“I can handle the truth,” she says quietly.
I hold her gaze.
Long enough that she knows I’m taking it seriously.
Then—
“Alright,” I say.
Simple.
But it means something.
Because I don’t say that lightly.
Her fingers tighten around mine again.
Just slightly.
Enough.
Across the transport, Clay shifts again.
Subtle.
But I see it.
Of course I do.
